dissolution
by Red Thread Studios
Summary: To disappear gradually, or fade away. To loose force, intensity or strength. To break up, disintegrate, or disperse. ::end-of-NaruHina; eventual happy ending; warning: marriage.:: Written for RTS by misssivren; pt 3 of series


**dissolution**

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><p><em>misssilivren,<em>

_for red thread studios_

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><p>Hinata doesn't leave suddenly one day, because that's not how she works. She slowly withdraws her presence from Naruto's life, teaching him to live on his own - all of his friends who've spoken of partners leaving them have described it like having a hole ripped in their lives; that's how it's talked about in books, movies, songs. For him, there is no hole, because she was kind enough to sew a scab over it before she had even gone. When people ask when she left, he can't honestly answer the question; it's somewhere in the colorless dead space between the first time she didn't greet him with a kiss when he came home and she was there, and the day she quietly gathered her things, already organized and sorted out, and packed them into a few bags, and driven away in her car. She'd even divvied up the bank accounts before she'd gone. It was all very civilized, and clean-cut, and that might be the worst part: at least screaming fights and thrown objects have weight, have meaning, have passion. <em>Words<em> have weight, have meaning, and Hinata hadn't even said anything before she delicately started to untangle herself from Naruto's life. He would have preferred the mangled mess of a shattered vase on the floor to her downcast eyes and closed-off face, not speaking to him, not reacting to anything. 'It's wrong, and I'm sorry, but it's not working'; and when he screams - begs - demands "_why_?", all she'll give him is a sigh and a smile.

They don't fight - or rather, she doesn't respond, even before when they were just starting, right after that first happy flush of joy faded out a bit. Hinata just shakes her head and looks disappointed, and she is always, always right. Always calm, and sensible, and quietly reproving, and at first he reveled in that, the lack of dramatic shouts and punches thrown by other girls in other houses in other times. But now Naruto misses those emotional rollercoasters, because at least there was the thrill in the plunge. Here there's nothing; no shouting or crying and no making up after that, either. Just a silent static _being _that has nothing to do with living. They exist in a state of mute coexistance, and eventually Naruto feels like they're almost just roommates, until Hinata displays one of her rare, sudden bursts of affection, random and surprising like a shock of birds exploding out of the evening winter trees, a thousand splashes of color against the steely sky. Then he can remember why he fell in love with her so swiftly; those twin spots of redness on her cheeks like she's still crushing on him in high school, the odd delicacy of her exposed neck when she lifts her hair off her shoulders, the way the color of her eyes isn't cold, but deep and clear like still water, immeasurably peaceful except when she's laughing. The brittle line of her back when she's on the phone with her father, the way that her fingers sometimes tremble when she's pouring tea because she's remembering her cousin, and yet she's still the strongest person he knows. She's strong enough to deal with him until finally they're just hurting each other. She's strong enough to leave when he doesn't have the courage, strong enough to remain calm and unbearably gentle when he's unleashing the full force of his temper on her, wanting desperately for her to wake up in her own skin and scream back, to slam doors and not just glide through them, turning her back like she doesn't care at all. That's how it feels, even though he can tell that the hard line of her back means that she's crying noiselessly, like she doesn't give a damn whether he's hurting or angry, like she's just waiting for him to fall back into bland common sense and regain control. He's tried, but it is impossible to hate her; Naruto calms himself and bitterly, resentfully apologizes, comforts her, tries to hold her. She pulls away and goes into the other room until she can compose herself, until she can smooth over the rough edges with silk and ties up anger along with her heavy hair. She pretty much makes him feel like shit, all the time, every day. He hates it; he can't imagine living without it until she makes him.

After she's gone he accepts all of the condolences and the phone calls, and grimly adjusts to the lack of the sound of her lightly walking around upstairs. He always finds it strange when he sleeps through the night without waking up to her slipping out of bed, silencing the pager on the table and rustling through the closet. He's already readjusted to cooking for himself, by himself, but the sight of his clothes spaced out in the closet remains unsettling. It's too quiet; it's eerie without her quiet presence. Naruto had never noticed how he unconsciously kept tabs on her, paid attention to which room she was in and what she was doing, until there was an space where she isn't, filled with air when she should be there instead. Naruto figures that this is as close as he is going to get to a "hole", and, like a child with a loose tooth, reminds himself of it every once and a while. He remembers buying the house together, the real estate agent watching them anxiously as they walked around and gave each other serious looks, which Hinata always almost ruined by giggling. He remembers sleeping in their bed, waking up and seeing her gilded by dark in folds and shadows, a vague impression of a beautiful woman. Touching her skin and always being surprised by it's warmth and the calluses on her hands, the familiar flowery smell of her perfume and shampoo; being exasperatedly set to a task like chopping tomatoes after overboiling the pasta, looking up to see her face flushed by steam, her grateful expression when he leaves out whatever he's cooked the night before for her in the morning when she comes home, exhausted and disillusioned after a long night in the OR.

He doesn't sell the house, but he can't stay there any longer. He thinks of places to hide from her absence, and can only recall getting on countless airplanes and leaving her, simmering quietly with unarticulated frustration after he'd shouted ("What do you want from me? Just _tell_ me and I'll give it to you - ") and her response was, as usual, unsatifsying ("I don't want to have to tell you! I want you to just _be there_ and not - you know what, no. I'm not going to do this, not right now and not with you."). Those airplanes had usually been bound to France, he remembers, and books a flight to Paris.

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><p><em>AN:_ This written as the second part to the "fine evening" series, yet it's meant to be read as the third and it occurs first. This is strange, I know. Bear with me. The "fine evening" series is a few one-shot/drabbles set in the same 'verse. Suggested reading order: "a fine evening for a lady"; "to that other place";"dissolution". I like this the most out of all three, actually.

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><p><em><strong>PSA:<strong>_ This fic was written for Red Thread Studios, a pretty new community developed on FF by myself and my friend, Yukihana Hisako. Red Thread Studios is a group which was created to gather authors and stories interested in writing about Team 7, make it easier to beta fics and form collabs, and have like-minded people for authors to interact with. If you're interested, please check out the rules on our page (just click the author link) or PM me if you have any questions. :D


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